Susan stood tall. “And the other was my husband.”
Miss May nodded. “I had forgotten about that tournament, but it was a big deal.” My aunt turned to me and explained. “They called it the ‘Foot-Fist-Fight-a-thon.’ It wasn’t an official competition. I think it was for charity. But the winners got big-time bragging rights. Everybody thought Pine Grove’s young, rising star would win.”
“Master Skinner?” I asked.
Miss May nodded.
“And he was fighting Rosenberg?” I asked.
Susan looked into the distance. “Hank was in his twenties then. It was the end of his prime.”
“That’s right!” Miss May covered her mouth. “I remember that. It’s all coming back to me. Everyone thought Master Skinner was unbeatable. People called him ‘Skinner the Winner’ for months before the tournament took place.”
Susan nodded. “It was inconceivable that he might lose.”
“But did he lose?” I asked.
“The way I heard it,” Miss May started, side-eyeing Susan for confirmation, “Master Skinner let the hype go to his head. He spent too much time giving interviews. He even appeared in a commercial for a local car dealership. So then when the match finally took place—”
“Skinner was weak,” Susan said. “Undisciplined. Out of practice.”
“And?” I asked.
Susan grinned. “Hank defeated his opponent handily. And footily.”
“Whoa. So Rosenberg beat Skinner in the biggest tournament of the 80s.” I turned to Miss May. “But Master Skinner wouldn’t have killed Hank because of a decades-old charity tournament.”
“Sure he would have,” Susan said. “You know how they say those who can’t do, teach?”
“I’ve always thought that was a fallacy that unfairly demeans teachers,” I said. Darn it, tongue, didn’t I tell you to be still?
“Well in Master Skinner’s case, it’s the truth,” Susan retorted, with an edge in her voice. “He abandoned his career as a karate champion after the charity tournament. Opened his practice a few months later. Never competed again.”
“So Hank ruined Master Skinner’s life,” Miss May said.
“No!” Susan bellowed and swiped a few of Hank’s trophies off the shelf. They clattered on the floor and echoed in the man cave.
Miss May and I took a step back, stunned by Susan’s outburst.
Susan turned on Miss May, glaring. “Skinner’s dojo only thrived thanks to my husband’s affordable rental rates. Hank was a blacker belt than Skinner. That’s all! Skinner couldn’t admit it.”
Miss May held up her hands in surrender. “You’re right. I hyperbolized. I’m sorry.”
“Master Skinner always blamed Hank for the way things turned out, but hubris was that little man’s undoing.”
My eyes widened. “Wow. Master Skinner always seemed humble to me. Exceedingly humble, in fact.”
Susan guffawed. “Oh, he turned it around. ‘Rebranded’ himself as a ‘zen messiah.’ But don’t be a fool. Master Skinner has let his grudge against my husband boil his blood for years. Years!”
“But I don’t understand,” I said. “If Master Skinner hated your husband so much, why did he rent his dojo from Hank in the first place?”
Miss May shook her head. “You don’t remember. That building hasn’t always been the Rosenberg building. Hank purchased it and renamed it after Master Skinner moved in.”
“But kept the rates low! Out of generosity!” Susan reminded us.
“Still, I find it hard to believe that a man with such, er, hubris as Master Skinner would deign to rent anything from his sworn nemesis.” I was trying to tread lightly. Susan seemed prone to taking things personally.
“Not a lot of empty storefronts in town. Not sure he had much choice.” Miss May turned to Susan. “Is that what this Massive Mart location was really about? Was it just part of Rosenberg’s plan to spite Master Skinner?”
Susan shrugged. “At the least, it was a pleasing side effect. But Hank... He never thought... Neither of us expected Master Skinner to, to kill.”
Susan looked down. She sniffled and wiped a tear away. When she looked up, her eyes were flinty and set. “Get him. Please. The police won’t help me. And I need you to put that man away for life.”
THAT NIGHT, TEENY CALLED the bakeshop and placed an order for a few dozen cinnamon buns, “Chelsea-style.”
Apparently, Miss May had told Teeny all about my cinnamon buns and the secret ingredient, and Teeny wanted to sell some at Grandma’s that weekend.
Teeny’s order flattered me. But it also grumped me up a little. Neither Miss May nor I felt like engaging in a marathon baking session after talking to Susan Rosenberg, but we liked to fill Teeny’s orders quickly, so we got right to work.
As soon as we began to knead the dough, Liz walked through the door of the bakeshop.
“Wow. It smells amazing in here. What are you two baking?”
Miss May laughed. “We haven’t put anything in the oven yet. So unless you love the smell of instant yeast, you’re flattering us because you want something.”
Liz took out a reporter’s notebook from her back pocket. “OK. You got me. I’m here for a quote on a story I’m reporting.”
“We’re not going to comment on an ongoing investigation,” Miss May said.
“I’m not here about any investigations,” Liz said. “I’m wondering if you know any eligible tomcats for Sandra Day O’Connor. We’re running a two page spread on her search for love and I want to add quotes from local residents. Give it the depth that people expect from me.”
“Is it that hard to find a single cat in Pine Grove?” Miss May asked. “I see three or four new strays a week.”
“Agreed,” I said. “If only it were that easy to find actual bachelors in Pine Grove, it would solve a lot of problems for me.”
“Does that mean things are cooling off between you and Wayne Hudson?” Liz asked.
I slapped my head with my palm. “I was making a joke. I don’t want to talk about that.”
“So then there is something to talk about? Tell me about this slow dance. Were Wayne’s hands over your shoulders or around your waist? And where does Germany Turtle fit into this love triangle? I hear he’s hot for Chelsea, too.”
“From whom!?” I asked.
“From him,” Liz said. “He proclaims his love for you to everyone he meets.”
My face flushed red. “Well I’m single.”
Liz pulled out a recorder and held it to my mouth. ”And ready to mingle?”
“I thought you were here to talk about cats.” I angled my face away from the recorder.
“That’s just her decoy story,” Miss May said. “She’s still after news on our investigation. Isn’t that right, Liz?”
“No,” Liz said. “That’s crazy! I wouldn’t lie to you. I heard you were talking to Susan Rosenberg, that’s all. Are you sure you’re not baking something that smells delicious? Maybe I’m just smelling residual deliciousness from another day.”
“Where did you hear that?” Miss May asked.
“I didn’t. But thank you for confirming it.” Liz made a quick note on her pad. “So Master Skinner must be suspect number one then. I’m presuming you and Susan discussed what happened in the Foot-Fist Fight-a-thon those many years ago?”
“No comment, Elizabeth. And I’m serious. Please don’t run any stories about this. Not yet. It could ruin the entire investigation.”
Liz narrowed her eyes. Looked between me and Miss May. “Fine. I’ll keep a lid on the story. For now. But I’m a good resource. Remember how great I was at the library last time?”
“You were great,” Miss May said. “And you’re right. You are a resource. What do you think about the whole Master Skinner thing?”
“I think he has motive, that’s for sure,” Liz said. “Did it look like Rosenberg might have been karate chopped to death?”
Miss May sighed. “I’m not sure exactly what that might l
ook like. But it’s possible.”
Liz nodded. “That makes me said. I like Skinner. He’s spunky.”
“We like him too,” Miss May said. “But justice requires us to pursue the truth. So tomorrow morning... That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
“And you don’t know any cats for Sandra Day O'Connor?”
Miss May shook her head. “I’ll put out some tuna tonight. See if we can attract an eligible bachelor.”
14
Little Kimmy Attacks
THE NEXT MORNING, WE woke up and went straight to Master Skinner's dojo to question Skinner in person.
We were about halfway through the parking lot when Big Dan slid out from under a pickup truck with a smile on his face and a wrench in his hand.
“Morning ladies! How are you two doing today? I’m grrreat!” He said ‘great’ with a growl, just like Tony the Tiger.
Miss May laughed. “We’re doing well, how are you Big Dan? Whoops! You already told us.”
“Yup! I’m grrrreat.” Big Dan stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans. “I got my 10,000 steps in before 6 AM so I’m not going to walk a single step for the rest of the day.”
Miss May nodded in appreciation. “Wow. I didn’t even know Pine Grove had 10,000 steps. Teeny always says the cops just walk in circles in the park to get their exercise.”
Big Dan took a big sip of water. “Oh yeah, I went in circles. Heh. That Teeny’s kinda funny, huh?”
Miss May and I exchanged glances.
“Hilarious,” I agreed. “She is a bundle of wit and charm.”
Big Dan smiled. “Hey. How are your cars doing? All good? Need a tuneup? Checkup? Top off your fluids, free of charge? You know that big old German bus burns oil, May. And that pickup is no spring chicken, Chelsea. More like an October chicken if you ask me.”
“We’re all good, thanks,” Miss May said. “Although when you switch over to donuts, I’ll be a frequent customer.”
“Who knows when that’ll happen,” Big Dan said. “Donuts are a tricky business. You have a good day now!”
Miss May laughed as we walked toward the dojo. “You too, Big Dan.”
I looked back and narrowed my eyes at Big Dan. “That guy is nice. A little too nice?”
“I think just regular nice,” Miss May said. “Not a suspect.”
“I think he might be a suspect in Teeny’s romantic life.”
“OK, Chels,” Miss May said. “Now’s not the time for matchmaking.”
“Sorry.” #NotSorry.
We arrived at the front door to Skinner’s dojo and Miss May turned to me. “You feeling good? Ready for this?”
I shrugged. “I’m grrrreat.”
Inside Master Skinner’s dojo, the vibe was studious and serious. Three rows of stone-faced children grunted and karate chopped in unison. Master Skinner guided the students at the front of the room. But the weirdest thing was by far the tall, strange man practicing along with the kids in the back row.
It was Germany Turtle.
Germany was a step behind all the other kids and sweating twice as much.
Miss May nudged me. “Look who it is.”
“Will you shush?” I said. “I’m looking for clues.”
Miss May giggled, and we looked around. The dojo hadn’t changed much since I had taken lessons there as a kid. It felt familiar yet fresh, as if it had recently gotten a makeover. Or a facelift. Or both. Soft blue mats lined the floors. And inspirational posters dotted the walls every few feet.
“Inner peace is outer power.”
“Think your way to victory.”
“Your greatest opponent is yourself.”
None of the slogans seemed to suggest murdering your enemies. Still, Master Skinner had an intense energy as he instructed the students. I wondered, could he be the killer?
Thirty seconds after we entered, Master Skinner turned his intense focus on me and Miss May.
“Chelsea Thomas. A former champion from this very dojo. Welcome.”
I smiled, nervous. “Hi, Master Skinner. Funny seeing you here.”
Master Skinner turned to the class. “Students, it is my pleasure to introduce you to Chelsea Thomas. She hides behind humor but inside has an unfathomable strength. Come, Chelsea. Join me for a demonstration.”
I blushed. “I haven’t practiced karate in years. You’d be better off using one of these kids.”
“Nonsense,” Master Skinner said. “I’ve read in the Pine Grove Gazette you use karate to apprehend killers in your mystery investigations.”
“Master’s right,” Germany Turtle said. “I read those articles, too. You’re great at karate, Chelsea. And you do have a strength unfathomable.”
I demurred and stumbled back toward the entrance. But then Germany began chanting my name, and the students joined in.
“Chel-sea! Chel-sea! Chel-sea!”
Miss May leaned in and whispered. “I think you better get out there, Chelsea. Or we’ll have a riot on our hands.”
I looked from the students, to Germany, then back to Master Skinner. I gulped and tried to muster a smile. “OK. What are we demonstrating?”
Moments later, I stood in the center of the mat beside a 10-year-old girl named “Little Kimmy.”
“Kimmy will attack. Chelsea will demonstrate the uke, then the otoshi uke. And she will utilize the morote uke, if necessary. Do you remember those terms?”
“Uh... Block? And forearm block? Something like that?”
“Terrific,” Master Skinner said. “It will all come back to you, I’m sure. And...begin!”
As soon as the fight began, I clammed up. Literally, every inch of my skin turned clammy. Little Kimmy looked ripped for a 10-year-old, and she circled me like a predator circles a scared little mouse.
At first she came at me slowly, with a standard kick. My sense memory kicked in and I managed a block.
I looked over at Miss May. She smiled and flashed a thumbs-up.
Little Kimmy launched another kick-attack. Once again, I managed a block.
Germany stood and pumped his fist. “Yeah! Get that small child, Chelsea!”
Seconds after Germany stood, the other students took to their feet as well. Unlike Germany, however, the other students rooted for Little Kimmy, not me.
“Go Little Kimmy!”
“Take her down, Little Kimmy!”
“She’s soft in the middle! Hit her there!”
The more the kids cried out, the more Germany defended me. “Hey!” he said. “That’s no way to talk to a lady!”
But the children were louder than Germany, and his singular voice was no match for their enthusiasm.
As the chanting grew louder, Little Kimmy attacked with increased ferocity. I gave up on blocking her hits and decided instead to employ evasive maneuvers. But the more I attempted to dodge Little Kimmy’s hits, the more disoriented I became.
Then, in one fluid motion, Little Kimmy kicked my feet out from under me and pinned me to the mat. Well, this is humiliating, I thought. Hopefully she won’t notice how clammy I am.
Little Kimmy kept me pinned for a few seconds, smiling in my face, then she jumped up with a smile and cheered in victory.
“I did it! I won! She’s so sweaty! But like, also cold.” Gee thanks, Kimmy.
Master Skinner approached and helped me up. “Chelsea. You have always made that mistake. You lose balance trying to avoid being hit. But what have I always told you?”
“To lean in?” I winced, suddenly aching everywhere. “You didn’t want me to demonstrate defensive tactics at all, did you? You wanted to teach me a lesson.”
“I got what I wanted,” Master Skinner said. “All I want is for you to do the same.”
WHEN I TURNED BACK from the water fountain, Germany Turtle was standing right behind me. “Chelsea. It was my divine pleasure to see you fight this morning. Little Kimmy is a cheater. You deserve to win.”
“I was trying to demonstrate defense,” I said. “And I failed . But
thank you, I guess.”
“Have you thought about me since we last saw one another and I professed my interest in your wondrous mind and curvaceous physical form?”
I looked around. Whewph. No one was within earshot. ”Not really, Germany. I’ve kind of been investigating this murder.”
Germany nodded. “I assume you speak of Hank Rosenberg’s so-called heart attack?”
Shoot! Way to blab, Chels.
“I’m glad you’re pursuing the truth,” Germany said. “Applying the same brilliant thinking you used to solve my parents’ case to another poor, slaughtered soul. You are a selfless and beautiful creature, Chelsea Thomas. Can I take you to the movies?”
Woof, this guy was forward! Fast forward!
I, on the other hand was slow. “Uhhhh....”
“I’m sorry, was that untoward? It’s just, I read on varied Internet sites that people in small-town America accompany one another to the cinema as the first step on their romantic journeys. Is that incorrect?”
“No,” I said. “That’s correct. But hold on a second... Have you never gone to the movies with someone before?”
“My parents forbade me from attending movie theaters. They insisted I only see Broadway musicals. And even then, they permitted me only to see those works which had music and lyrics by Sondheim.”
I stammered. “Wow. That’s intense, Germany. Have you seen any movies?”
Germany laughed. “Oh yes, I’ve seen movies. I’ve seen several World War II documentaries. And I’ve seen every cinematic reproduction of Shakespeare’s tragedies. Those were real popcorn flicks, as they say. Anyway, take some time to consider. We can go as platonic acquaintances, no need to call it a date.”
Miss May approached and took me by the elbow. “Chelsea. Can I grab you for a moment? I think Master Skinner is about to teach a new class.”
I looked back at the dojo. Master Skinner straightened the floor-mats along the wall.
“Sure.” I said. “Nice to see you, Germany. You need to watch a real movie, at some point.”
“Name your favorite and I’ll buy ten copies,” Germany said.
“Why would you...” I trailed off. Germany’s sincerity charmed me. “OK. I’ll think about it.”
Berried Alive Page 9
